


faire le linge

by preromantics



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-12
Updated: 2010-04-12
Packaged: 2017-10-08 21:53:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preromantics/pseuds/preromantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Oh come on, Allen," Adam says, catching up and squeezing at Kris' shoulder. He turns him around a little, looking mostly serious, "let's go to Victoria's Secret."</i> Tour!fic, cross dressing (lingerie) kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	faire le linge

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LJ on 6/3/09.

Going shopping at the mall is much easier on tour without handlers. It's easier to blend in when there aren't a bunch of suits with bald heads and angry muscles following you around. The escape was Allison's idea - she knew some people in the area and wanted as much as Kris to escape the cramped tour buses  - and Adam went along with her so of course Kris did so as well.  
   
They've been there over an hour, although now it's just Adam and Kris walking around mostly aimlessly -- Allison having run off long ago with her friends. Kris is surprised, really, that no one has recognized them but the mall is relatively dead anyway. It's a Tuesday ("Wednesday," Adam corrects him, with a playful roll of his eyes,) so the teen population is, thankfully, drastically low.  
   
They eat at the food court and down matching coffees in the elevators, heading towards the bright top floor.  
   
"Big mall," Kris comments, blinking around and then up, where thick glass windows make up most of the roof.  
   
Adam rocks back and forth a little, looking around. Kris can tell he would have probably rather been actually shopping, holding back for Kris' sake. It's flattering, the consideration, but Kris honestly wouldn't mind - Adam always seems to find something on his shopping excursions that amuse him.  
   
"Where to?" Adam asks, comfortable.  
   
Kris shrugs, malls are definitely not his element. He scratches at his neck a little, glancing at the stores. "I want to pick up something for Katy, maybe," he says, finally, "for when I see her next week." He can't help the little flush that creeps up his neck, silly -- he could just be talking about getting her slippers, or something equally harmless.  
   
Adam seems to know, though, laughing lightly and raising a sculptured eyebrow. "Something special, hm?" he says, accented.  
   
Laughing low back at him Kris knocks at his shoulder, ducking a little.  
   
"Something for the bedroom, maybe?" Adam presses. His smile is gigantic, mocking even though his eyes are bright and friendly.  
   
Kris grimaces, swats at his shoulder and then turns, starting to stride away, leaving Adam behind him laughing.  
   
"Oh come on, Allen," Adam says, catching up and squeezing at Kris' shoulder. He turns him around a little, looking mostly serious, "let's go to Victoria's Secret."  
   
"Wow," Kris groans, briefly shutting his eyes. "I am not going -- going lingerie shopping with you."  
   
Adam frowns at him, unfettered. "What size does Katy wear?" he asks, steering Kris the opposite way, and Kris just shakes his head all the way until they hit the store, bright and open and full of overtly sexual ads. Not that Kris has a problem with it, or anything, just. He'd be much comfortable doing this online or something, not in the store. Not in the store with another guy. (Well, Adam, but still.)  
   
"Okay," Adam says when they enter, standing tall next to Kris' semi-embarrassed crouch. A salesperson approaches them, smiling, but Adam waves her off.  
   
"Okay," Adam says again, "what size are we looking for?"  
   
Kris thinks about it, trying to clear his head a little, resigned. "I have no idea, actually," he admits.  
   
Adam looks at him a little critically, standing back, and Kris gets ready to defend himself before Adam just shrugs.  
   
"We can work it out," he says, heading towards a display sitting on top of wooden drawers.  
   
One of the dressing room attendants peaks around with another, and Kris can tell they're being watched. Instead of focusing on that he watches Adam, concentrated and focused, flipping through racks.  
   
"What's her favorite color?" Adam asks, biting a little at his lower lip. "Or, what's your favorite color on her?"  
   
"Um," Kris thinks about it, tries to picture Katy quickly in the colors he sees around him. He's immediately drawn to a forest color with a smooth finish, seeing it flash against pale skin in his mind and immediately liking the effect. Adam comes over when he motions, "I like that color? I don't know if she would but."  
   
"Awesome," Adam says, ignoring a hovering salesgirl and pulling open a drawer under the bra, flipping through the rows gently. He glances over at Kris with another calculating gaze and settles on one of the smaller one that does indeed look like it would fit Katy.  
   
"Okay," Kris says, "great. I'll get that one."  
   
Shaking his head, Adam grins, handing the bra to the quietly following salesgirl. "No, no, we're still looking."  
   
Kris groans, following him. Adam pauses, briefly, to look at some underwear and Kris watches him lift a pair of emerald ones that seem to match the bra, lightly fingering the lace at the edge. He puts them down quickly enough, and Kris almost says something until he sees Adam's face, blank like it gets when he's trying to hide something. Kris swallows a little, and follows him to the back of the store.  
   
Adam heads straight for some of the simpler selections, edged with little splashes of lace - more sensual to Kris then the fancier kind, in that they are simple with that little something more. Adam picks out a navy one right away, holding it out and glancing back at Kris for his approval.  
   
"Like this?" he asks, waving it a little, silly.  
   
Kris nods, likes the shape and the more matte finish. "I like that, too, I guess."

Adam purses his lips, shrugging. "We'll have to see them on," he says, grabbing the same size from a stacked drawer and then one in black as well.

"On?" Kris asks, taking the two when Adam hands them over and starts steering them further back.

Adam shoots him a grin bordering on scheming and Kris can feel his own brow furrowing in.

"Um," he says.

Adam takes a sheer, draping piece of material off of a rack by an open hallway, running the material through his fingers. "Okay," Adam says, decisive, and Kris is just about to question him when he realizes Adam is actually talking to the fitting room attendant. "We're going to take these in," he continues, and Kris freezes blankly for a moment when Adam gestures at him.

He blanches a little when Adam reaches out for his shoulder, steering him down the hall, and the attendant gives him a wide smile. "Let me know if you need anything," she says.

"Adam," Kris hisses, when they enter a room - the walls are pink, the adjacent one to the door bolstered with pink satin gathered in places periodically by big, round buttons. There is a floor length mirror and a bench opposite it. "What are you doing!"

"You have to try them on, Allen," Adam says matter-of-fact. "How else will you know which one is the best?"

Kris stares at him, letting him take the bras and hand them individually on little pegs. Adam settles a hand on his hip and stares evenly back.

"I'll just buy them all, Adam, this is. I don't even know. She can pick the one or something, just."

Adam cocks his head to the side. "Come on, Kris," he says. His voice is a little strange but Kris can't place it. "I can leave, just try them on. It'll help, I promise."

He sounds so convincing, earnest and Kris automatically hates how much trust he has in Adam. This would've been the stuff of frat nightmares just a year ago and now Kris actually finds himself considering it, already picturing looking at himself in the mirror and. He swallows and sucks in a breath. "I'm going to regret this," he says, glancing over at Adam and shaking his head. Adam grins back victoriously and takes a seat on the bench in one fluid motion, lounging back.

He slips his shirt off fast. Adam's seen him shirtless enough through out the past few months that he doesn't even mind, even though the surface prickles just a little. "So," he says, resigned, peering at Adam in the mirror and trying not to look at himself, "which first?"

Adam shrugs, long. He looks smug, almost and Kris wants to simultaneously laugh and smack him. "Up to you," Adam says

Kris takes a breath, picking the green one first. "I don't see Katy in black," he says, wrapping his fingers around the straps of the other.

The clasp comes undone easily enough - Kris can attest to at least having enough expertise in that area. Once it's open, however, he finds himself staring blankly at the straps and cups and then at himself in re mirror.

Adam chuckles, low from the bench. "Need some help?"

Kris leans back, cracking his neck. "Yeah," he says, aware of the strange territory, "probably."

Adam jumps up right away, taking the bra carefully. He pulls at the top of Kris' arms, and Kris resists stepping away, the bare contact feeling more intense while he stands there half-undressed.

"Slip it on from the front," Adam instructs.

Kris slips his arms through, and Adam gathers the sides to the back, clasping it much quicker than Kris ever could have. He meets Adam's eyes in the mirror, watching Adam look at the straps carefully. Kris doesn't look at himself in the mirror at all.

Adam's hands feel warm against this shoulder blades as he lifts each strap, sliding to make it sit better on his shoulder.

"You and Katy are about the same size," Adam says when he steps back, "you're broader though, of course."

Kris takes a small, steadying breath before looking up in the mirror. It's. Definitely not anything he ever pictured. "Oh," he says. The green sort of shines in the light of the dressing room and against his skin. It would probably look even better against paler skin than his. The straps bite in a little, and the back does too - not meant to be stretched so wide. Broad, like Adam said.

The cups are the strangest part. The flat plane of his chest rises and gives the illusion of an upward swell. He trails his hand across just where the lower band of the cups is, skirting his fingers half along skin.

"So?" Adam asks, voice sounding far away. Kris looks up the mirror, where Adam is looking at him, eyes intense.

"Looks. It's. Nice color," Kris says, painfully aware of how dry his throat is and how stupid he sounds.

"Try on the next one," Adam says, stepping forward again, slipping his hands carefully along Kris's spine, unhooking the bra and grabbing the other, the navy one he picked out.

They go through much the same process, except this time Kris watches in the mirror and his skin feels hyperaware. He tries not to flinch or move while Adam adjusts the straps again, but the hair on his arms stands up of it's own accord. He watches Adam's face - open with something again un-placeable, face set in concentration.

They both look in the mirror at the bra together, Adam still standing close. The cups are laying a little lopsided (nothing for them to really support,) and before Kris can reach up to fix it Adam does. He reaches around, his inner arm resting along the top of Kris' ribcage, hands brushing the middle of his torso as he evens it out, biting his lip. Kris swallows, watching the movement of his wide hands as they move up, covering the small cups up completely, pressing inward.

Kris looks at them both in the mirror and can't breathe. Adam blinks, slowly, chin brushing near the top of Kris' head.

"I like this one," Adam says, slow. He sounds like he's inhaling his words. "Looks good."

Kris nods blankly. The color looks nice set against the warmer tone of his skin, the simple form of the bra and the small, delicate lacing feeling somehow more, better than the first. Adam steps back, hands automatically  reaching to unclasp the back, the skin against skin contact too harsh, too warm.

Kris slips his shirt on quickly while Adam collects the bras. Tries to breathe normally.

"Which are you going to get?" Adam asks, pushing through the door first.

Kris closes his eyes, tries to picture Katy in the navy but just sees himself, tries to picture her in the deep green and sees Adam instead. He opens them, feeling dizzy.

"I'll get both," he says, shocked at the low tone of his voice but happy it's keeping level, "it's not like I can't afford it." He shrugs at Adam and Adam gives him a half-smile back.

When Kris hits the counter to pay, Adam wanders off to the other side, in Kris' line of vision but not directly. He's looking at the underwear again and Kris has to look away, hands fumbling on his wallet.

He feels infinitely silly carrying the pink and white striped bag, walking next to Adam through the mall, on edge for more than one reason. Adam takes it from him after their next stop, shoving it in his newly-acquired M.A.C bag and giving Kris a wry smile.

They meet up with Allison shortly after, and some handlers come to pick them up in a black SUV, one of them talking sternly about the dangers of going places off on their own like that. Allison sits between him and Adam and Kris stares out the window until he sees the tour buses in the back lot he only remembers vaguely from the morning.    
 

-

   
The days seem to alternate being busy and slow. One day will find Kris (and usually Adam, too) being dragged around non-stop for press before show time and another will be dead enough that everyone is just trying to find something to keep them occupied.  
   
Kris hates those days, feels cramped and stuck in his own head, alternating between trying too hard to not think, hand absently in the Victoria's Secret bag, rubbing along the edge of a strap, soft, and thinking too much.  
   
He goes to a random mall once more before the tour hits the stop during which he will see Katy. Most everyone has press, Adam has a meeting with a producer, but Kris managed to get some freedom for the day.  
   
In the mall he passes the Victoria's Secret three times, thinking of Adam not Katy and drowns himself in a venti iced coffee with $5 worth of espresso shots.  
   
It's not until his one trailing handler gets a phone call while they are passing the store for a forth time, (and his brain, it won't stop, even when he presses his palms into his eyelids, watching the sparks and fireworks,) that he finally goes inside. He nods, first, over at where the guy - Fenner, he goes by - and then walks over.  
   
When Kris gets into the store he feels vaguely overwhelmed, but thankfully lets an attendant lead him around, and when he finally walks out (this time shoving the bag in with some earlier purchases) he feels like the barely-there package is weighted down with stones as he walks.  
 

-

   
Kris gets nervous on the bus the morning of the day he'll be seeing Katy, eating lightly toasted bread in the little bus kitchenette before everyone else is more than half-awake. Anoop is across from him in the booth, knees up and focused alternatively on his iPhone and a cup of coffee, and Matt is snoring on the lounge couch with a book on his chest.  
   
Adam shows up when Kris is halfway through his toast, eyes catching outside on the green of the trees and thinking about thin straps, stupid morning thoughts left over from desperate, gritty dreams. He slides into the booth, too close from a jostle in the road and Kris startles, probably even looks nervous even though he's been acting fine around Adam the past week -- and Adam presses a hand into the small of his back, a heavy weight that stays there all until the dregs of Kris' coffee curdle and turn cold.  
   
"Nervous?" Adam asks, calm and peering out to read the exit signs.  
   
Kris laughs, rolling his shoulders. "Nah," he says.  
   
Adam gives him a sort of smirking smile, eyes bright.  
   
"Hey look," Kris says, swallowing a little and rocking to start to get out of the booth, "I see our next exit."  
   
Adam laughs, not budging, and Kris sighs good-naturedly, pushing at his shoulder before crawling past him. It's not until he gets back to the bunk area to change that he exhales, reaching down to the skin just below his ribs where he can feel the outline of Adam's fingertips from when he reached to help Kris get over him only seconds before. He closes his eyes, pressing his thumbs along the line of his own hipbones before sifting through dirty clothes to find some that pass as clean.  
 

-

   
The time with Katy goes fast. It's good to see her, feel her, even. Katy is the other aspect that Kris can call 'home' in his head, besides what's become 'home' in the past few months, (the mansion, the hotel, and now the bus.) She hugs tight and their conversation is easy but Kris finds it hard not to be distracted, to stop thinking like he's conditioned himself to do.  
   
When they get to the hotel, they set alarms for 4am first, for Kris to get back for bus call and for Katy's flight. She's happy for her gifts, ducking her head and fingering along the edge of the dark grey contrasting lace when she slips out of the bathroom, presenting herself. Kris feels strange looking at her, blurrily picturing himself even though it's one he didn't try on -- this purchase being one he made on the second trip -- and blocks everything out after a few heady minutes, just focusing on her for the night. Everything is rushed, finishing out the theme of the day, and Katy seems so small.  
   
She falls asleep first, after, and Kris watches her in the street lights filtering through hotel curtains, traces the dark grey strap lining the jut of her shoulder blade with his finger, turning over the purchase in his mind and thinking of the two original ones, navy and heavy green sitting entwined in one another in the bag buried deep in his suitcase.  
   
They say goodbye quickly, knowing it's only a little while until this part is all over, and its quiet in the way Kris values most, the fact that they are foremost friends, crutches on which to lean and guides for each other.  
   
"Keep your head," Katy says as a farewell when they part outside the bus, sun breaking through on just the horizon.  
   
Adam is sitting up in the front lounge of the bus, reading a well-worn Cosmo (the other guys on the bus swear they don't read it, but Adam isn't the only one wearing the pages down,) and looking half asleep. His head snaps up with a small grin when Kris stumbles up the stairs, and Kris returns it with a tired smile of his own.

They stumble through to the bunks together as the bus hums into life, rolling slowly forward and Kris loses his footing crawling in, inhaling when Adam catches him along his spine, fingers curled along the side of his ribs.

"Get some sleep," Adam whispers, his breath warm.

It's not until Kris is under the covers in his bunk, having only managed to shrug out of his jeans, that he thinks to respond, and replies "good night," to the darkness.

  
-

   
"Laundry day!" Adam says, excited when he pushes through to the back of the bus where the few of them done for the day until the perforamnce later have gathered, huddled over open suitcases and shoving things that don't pass as decent-smelling into labeled laundry bags.  
   
Kris rolls his eyes when Adam shoves his stuff practically on top of Kris'. He has so many clothes, most of which probably need dry cleaning and Kris belatedly feels sorry for whoever is in charge of Adam's laundry.  
   
"How many suitcases do you have for all this stuff?" Kris asks, exaggerated and light, inspecting the mass of clothes spilling over into his own suitcase.  
   
"Sorry," Adam says when he notices, grabbing at a pair of black pants with a strange shine, and then curling his fist for a shirt underneath. When he lifts it all up some of Kris' shirts come with, and Kris blinks before he sees, Adam freezing and the noise of everyone else sort of fading to the background as it rushes in and out of Kris' ears. Under the mess of clothes is the Victoria's Secret bag, uncovered like a secret where Kris has kept it shoved, the tangle of navygreennavy straps spilling out from the top.  
   
Kris chokes on an inhale of air, turning his face from Adam and covering up the bag with a shirt as best he can, staring blankly at his pile of dirty clothes.  
   
Adam remains quiet, not even submitting to a few clothes-related jibes thrown his way by Matt besides a non-committal grunt, and Kris keeps his head down and tries to remember how to blink.  
 

-

   
During the show, Kris slips up, he stumbles through 'Heartless' and switches the verses, painfully aware of everything as he does it. It's the first time he's messed up the entire show and it throws him off all the way to the group number at the end.  
   
Lil looks at him critically backstage, about to make her way over and talk to him in the motherly way she has that Kris can't figure out if he minds or not - but Adam beats her to it.  
   
"Hey," he says, soft but with an edge he keeps after performances. He presses into Kris' space in the chaos that is always backstage after everything, and Kris feels almost like he's not in the room. "Hey," he repeats, catching Kris' eyes, "so."  
   
Kris furrows his brow, taking in Adam in front of him, face too close to focus on properly but the rhinestone-splattered edge of his sleeve in perfect, sharp view. "So," he returns, feeling shaky at best from everything swirling around.  
   
Adam looks at him expectantly; it's the first time they've talked since earlier with the luggage, strange.  
   
Kris swallows, "We're, uh, rooming tonight because it's hotel night, right?" he asks, almost proud of how level he manages to keep his voice.  
   
Adam looks confused, briefly, but nods slowly, and turns quick, shooting back at someone's joke that Kris didn't even hear, couldn't have possibly heard. Kris curls his hands into a fist, and lets a handler guide him back to the bus to change and get room keys.  
 

-

  
Adam beats Kris to the room, somehow, already in the shower by the time Kris gets walked over from the buses, checked in and given the repetitive hotel-rules talk from a weary tour manager.

Kris walks around the room several times. It's nothing special, balcony, two matching full-size beds, a bolted door to an adjoining hotel room that will remain un-used. He feels on the edge of something, a feeling that generally comes along with any thoughts of Adam. The bag is in his overnight duffel, edges crushed and delicate rope handle worn down.

He's startled when the white noise of the shower stops abruptly, Adam absently singing a muffled scale behind the door. Kris is bent over his duffle, and waits for through the noise of the blow dryer to stop before grabbing the bag, sudden and almost robotic with decisiveness, setting it on Adam's bed.

He takes out the navy bra, touching it lightly and then tossing it over behind his duffle. Inside the bag on Adam's bed is just the dark, luminescent green bra from the first trip -- the color Kris couldn't, can't get out of his kind, picturing it against pale skin, Adam's skin. Also in the bag is a mostly-matching pair of underwear, the ones Kris couldn't help but notice Adam looking at in the store. He bought them on the second trip, along with the simple greyish bra that Katy ended up with. He feels silly momentarily, listening vaguely to Adam moving around and almost takes the underwear back out -- he's being presumptuous enough as it is, taking this step forward.

The bathroom door clicks and Kris jumps from where he is hanging over Adam's bed and he rushes forward, almost colliding with Adam to get near the bathroom.

Adam looks startled, all soft from his shower, features so much less severe, so much less Adam than usual.

"I'm going to shower," Kris says, voice level, but he can feel the flush running up his neck.

Adam opens his mouth to answer and Kris can almost feel the moment he sees the bed, can see the flare of his nostrils and Kris pushes by, heart beating somewhere up in his throat as he steps into the bathroom, shutting Adam out and in the room.

The water in the shower is both calming and suffocating. Kris tires his best to drown his thoughts, skin prickling. He finishes faster than he means to, stepping out and unfogging the mirror with his elbow, gripping the counter for a moment and just staring at his reflection. His eyes are dark and heavy, mouth set in an almost determined line.

He doesn't bother blow drying his hair after he gets over his own reflection, just runs his towel repeatedly over it until it sticks up everywhere but feels somewhat dry. He slips into briefs and a well-worn shirt that he thinks actually belongs to Adam with the way it bags around his waist and hips, hanging loose in the shoulders.

It takes a few tries to open the door correctly, Kris breathing deep, brain disconnected wondering if Adam will even be there, if he scared him, if he will be denied this, whatever foolish (not foolish) thing it couldmaymight be.  
 

-

  
Adam is under the covers when Kris finally turns to look at him. He's curled around them and the tv is on but he's staring right at Kris, almost expectant, eyes dark even from Kris' viewpoint.

"Hey," Adam says. He sounds like himself and it is unnerving.

"Yeah," Kris breathes, rocking back on his heels. Adam shuts off the tv in a quick motion and the dead silence settles over Kris - over them - like a heavy dense air.

"So you kept them." Adam says. It's a statement not a question, there is nothing questioning about it. In fact, it's almost daring or accusing.

"I --" Kris starts, but Adam cuts over him.

"And you went back," he says, "you planned this."

Kris shuts his eyes for a second, flexes his wrists. "I got something different for her, for Katy, that one day you were so busy. And I saw the, the other -- that you were looking at in the store. I didn't actively plan anything, though." He rushes everything out, tongue heavy on all the vowels.

"I didn't think you noticed me looking," Adam says after a short silence. Then, "And the navy one? You kept it, I saw earlier."

Kris nods, unsure. He takes a small step forward but stops.

Adam makes a heavy noise, almost a sigh and rubs at his eyes. When he moves his arm the blanket wrapped around him shifts, just enough down his shoulder that Kris sees the cutting edge of a green strap.

"Is this a game, Kris?" Adam asks, suddenly left-field and serious.

Kris feels his own eyes widen, jerking them away from Adam's shoulder. "No," he rushes, "I. I have no idea what it is Adam." It's probably the most honest thing he could say.

Adam's face seems to soften, and he sits up, letting the blanket fall and then pushing it down under his ankles.

Kris has to move, quick towards the edge of the television stand to brace himself. The sight of Adam against the headboard, the too-small bra in such contrast to his skin, biting angry red-lines into the fluid sweep of his skin is enough to make Kris' mouth dry, palms shaky against the corner of the stand.

When he looks down he actually has to close his eyes. The underwear is a slightly darker shade of green, all patterned with intricate see-through lace. The elastic stretches around Adam's thighs but doesn't bite in like the bra; instead, it looks almost built for him to wear, curving along the line of his hips with an easy grace.

Down the slope of his stomach is the strangest, the part that makes Kris want to shut his eyes but also imprint the image into his mind. The lace stretches over Adam's un-full cock, giving and moving in places it's not meant to over top, the visual crushing into Kris' chest with startling _want_.

Adam lets him look, Kris' eyes moving of his minds free will, drinking in the sight of Adam on the bed, calmly spread out like he isn't cutting off Kris' much needed rational thought process.

"Come here," Adam finally says, extending a hand.

Kris goes like Adam is pulling a string, watching Adam's fingers, the line of his mouth, his eyes.

"Wait," Adam says, sudden, "put on the other, I want to see again."

Kris swallows. "You already saw," he says, voice gritty and low.

"I want to see again," Adam says, that carefully dominant edge in his voice again like back in the dressing room.

Kris gives in, easy, pulls off his shirt as he walks to his suitcase. He takes the bra and turns back to Adam, body tight but moving well enough. "Will you?" he asks, a little unsure, gesturing.

Adam gets up gracefully, the noise of the sheets a soft, calming rustle. When he gets close enough Kris presses into his chest, body moving automatically. Adam curls wide arms around him for a moment, squeezing in with a steady, grounding pressure. "Kris," he says, "are you -"

Kris doesn't -- can't let him finish. "Yes," he says, and then repeats it. He leans back and slips his arms into the straps, turning around as he does it so Adam can hook the back together. The weight of the cup wires against his chest seems heavier than the first time. There isn't a mirror but Kris can imagine what he looks like, small against Adam's chest.

"Fuck," Kris breathes, small and reverent, turning back around again.

Adam laughs deep in his throat, arms coming up to run down Kris' biceps, under the navy bra straps and then along the line of his throat.

Kris leans up first, suddenly sure of the fact he wants this, wants Adam's lips on his, Adam's everything on him. The press is jolting, hard, pushing Kris backwards, one of Adam's hands slipping down along the line of his briefs to steady him, pressing.

Adam makes a noise first, pulling back and moving toward the bed again, pushing Kris down easily with the spread of his palm and crawling over top of him. The angle is strange for Kris, he can see the lines of Adam's collarbone and then the swell of the bra and where it's mostly empty inside, just this dark space. Further down Adam's stomach rounds out a little softly, and then lower, again to the stretch of lace that keeps Kris' eyes locked and his throat dry.

"You're freaking out," Adam says, leaning back on his heels. Kris frowns, reaches out and curls a few fingers around the line of Adam's hip where the lace presses in, scalloping up and down, feeling the difference in texture, rough leading to soft skin.

"No," Kris says, firm, looking up at where Adam is leaning over him, looking -- looking like something unreal. He takes a minute, just looking again, skin starting to burn where his thighs touch. He keeps rubbing along the edge of the underwear on Adam's hip, just with his thumbs.

Adam settles a little more, stretching so he's straddling the widest part of Kris' thighs. His lips quirk up in a little smile, gradually, and Kris smiles back. "What?" he asks, a laugh pushing out, and his bones start to loose a little more of their tension, set out under Adam.

"Are you just going to look at me?" Adam huffs, still grinning, rolling his hips forward and down.

Kris sucks in a breath through his nostrils, and runs his hand up across Adam's stomach, watching and feeling the muscles jump in, and then up to the under wire of his bra. He slips two fingers under, to feel the skin underneath, all the while watching Adam watch him.

"It's so tight," he says, quiet, the wire pressing into his knuckles, "too small."

Adam shifts over him, "I'm not exactly your size, Kristopher."

Kris makes a noise in response, pushing himself up against the headboard and slipping his hands around to Adam's back, resting against his spine and then reaching up to the clasp, twisting it sideways to unhook it. It slips off of Adam's shoulders easily, pooling in his lap and slipping down until he brushes it aside, rolling his back until it cracks. His chest has a map of red indents, an angry outline against his skin, and when Kris presses into a deep one right below his nipple, Adam hisses.

"Do you?" Kris asks, starts to ask, as Adam dips down, crouching and running his lips dry along Kris' neck and the hollow of his throat.

Adam seems to get it, though, tracing some sort of invisible path with his tongue. "Sometimes." he says. His hands leave hot, pricking trails where they run over Kris's skin, "I like the underwear better. I like these a lot." He meets Kris' eyes, dark, lowering his body downward.

Kris is still between tense and numb, nothing really having caught up with him. "Yeah, good," he says, dry.

Adam hums, his hands reaching up and cupping the front of Kris' bra, kneading the material so it pushes down silky-soft onto Kris' chest. He arches lightly, the material sliding over his nipples and feeling so different, light but very much a present pressure.

"You look good," Adam says, reminiscent of the dressing room again, and Kris shivers a little. He moves his hands with his body to rest lightly on Kris' thighs, tracing up until they are just in the 'v' of his hips, cupping around his cock, just pressing full and heavy against the material of his briefs, in between Adam's hands. Adam's thumbs press down and over first, smoothing the material and Kris bucks, unprepared -- hadn't thought this far through, thought more about seeing Adam, touching Adam.

When Adam finally goes to pull on the material, Kris moves his hips up easily, and Adam dips down just as quick, tongue reaching the head of his dick before he's even been touched, and Kris' rolls his head back, groaning.

As soon as Adam curls his lips around the head of Kris' dick, something snaps for Kris -- the small hedge of indecisiveness, maybe, or just the crest of physical want. In any case he stops thinking, pin-pointed in on his own skin, nerve endings and Adam. He digs his hands in Adam's hair, long because he's only let the stylists style it on tour, not cut it.

Adam makes a noise, dark, and they meet hard and crashing in the middle, Kris bent awkwardly forward, licking into Adam's mouth as best he can, slack-jawed and without skill. Adam has his hand around the back of Kris' neck, teeth nipping at the full part of Kris' lower lip. His other hand is down lower, elbow against Kris' stomach and fist around his dick, rushed movement in the sudden upheaval of tension.

"Wait, wait," Kris says, breathless, and Adam pulls back with one eyebrow up. Kris rolls them, Adam's fingers a light tickle on his lower back, right where his spine dips before the small swell of his ass.

Kris slides down him, imitating their positions from earlier but reversed, leaning in between Adam's thighs because he suddenly realizes that he _can_. Adam props himself up on his elbows, looking down at Kris with almost a smirk.

Their friendship, or whatever they have, is built on the sort of motions they take back and forth. If Adam pushes, it's up to Kris to give back or not. If Kris pushes, Adam always accepts, always has that small flash of acceptance like he's grateful. Kris knows the same principle applies here, now, and it gives him a small heady rush, splaying fingers along the lace covering Adam's cock, curling around just slightly.

"Fuck," Adam says, when Kris drags the flat of his tongue over the lace, inhaling. "What's it feel like?" he asks.

"Rough," Kris says. He tucks his thumbs into the top of the underwear, pulling at the elastic and pushing it down, holding his breath as Adam's cock springs free.

"I didn't think this far," Kris admits, quiet and low. Adam reaches down and scratches at the back of Kris' neck, right at his hairline, comforting.

Kris leans down, wraps a hand around the base of Adam's cock, warm, squeezing lightly and then ducking the rest of the way down, taking just the head between his lips, darting out his tongue to swipe around. Adam makes a noise, slipping his hand down from Kris' neck to the navy straps of his bra, slipping his fingers under them and deftly un-hooking it as Kris sucks lightly down his dick.

Kris didn't realize how much the bra had been pressing into his chest, had almost become used to the feeling on his skin, straps pushing into the soft flesh of his shoulders, but it feels freeing to get off. He licks down the underside of Adam's cock wetly in appreciation, almost in wonder.

"Hey," Adam says, soft. His voice is gritty, tight, and Kris can feel the tension in his hips, the lines of his muscles straining in his stomach.

"Hm," Kris hums, pulling off. The air feels thick, his bones heavy but nerves on high sensitivity. The brushes of Adam's fingers - just the pads of them, along his shoulder blades and the top indents of his ribs feel like little electric sparks.

"Come up," Adam says, pulling, pushing at Kris' skin and Kris gets a sudden flash of seeing bruises, seeing little purple indents when he looks in the mirror and he pushes back into Adam's hands almost violently, letting himself be pulled up. Adam goes automatically for the hollow of his neck, biting in and sucking briefly. It feels like fire.

"I want to," Adam continues, settling them, "spread you out under me." He gets Kris on top of him, legs entwined and reaches down, palming their dicks together. The friction is good, hot and rough until Adam lifts his hand, and Kris gets it quickly enough, licks between his fingers as Adam watches him, gets them wet and slick with saliva, licking down his palm.

He groans when Adam reaches down again, on edge. Adam mirrors his sound, his palms feeling so big, so all-encompassing.

Adam keeps talking, filling up the white noise of the room with images, blinding and connected with his nerve endings. "Get you wet," Adam says, low and edged, "sometime when we're not on tour, just you in my bed. I'll wear something for you, even."

Kris is mumbling back, bucking down. It's late, must be so late, and it's later in his head and he feels strung out and good, just following Adam's lead, letting him take care of him, promises, promises.

Everything builds in a fuzzy way, not frantic -- they're pushing and pulling back and forth like always.

"Gonna fuck you, Kris Allen," Adam says, all around an obscene noise in one rush of breath and Kris snaps forward, coming between them, a release of his entire body and Adam bucks up into him, pushing frantic, finally frantic, breaking and Kris can feel it when he comes, hot and slick.

Kris feels liquid, doesn't know what to expect and Adam shifts, pulling Kris into his chest, quiet.

The air conditioner in the hotel room kicks on after a few minutes, and Kris rolls until he's facing Adam. "That's not what I was expecting," he says, most of his voice gone level.

Adam gives him a questioning look, leaning back to give him space but keeping a hand on the small of his back. "What was it, then?" Adam asks, pressing in a little.

Kris can feel himself frowning, curling closer to Adam because it feels strange and open when he's too far away. "I don't know," he says, honest. "I don't know about any of this."

Adam looks at him silently, just there, and presses his lips against Kris' forehead. "That makes sense," he says. "We can figure it out or not."

They feel sticky and hot, but Kris feels tired to his toes, can't tell where certain parts of his skin end and Adam's skin begins. It's a nice feeling.

Adam's eyes are shut when Kris looks up, the lines on his chest aren't angry red anymore, just little pink indents. Kris wonders what they'll look like in the morning, if the memory will still be there, and closes his eyes too, safe in the knowledge that at least he'll be there to see.

Kris pulls the blanket up on them, cool from the sweat and air, and Adam mumbles something tiredly, quiet.

"You make sense," Kris says, belatedly as an answer, and then repeats it louder. As long as something makes sense, there is a groundwork to lay everything upon, and that's comforting enough.

"Good," Adam replies, squeezing where his hand is resting on Kris' hip. "That's good," he says, again, sleepy and soft.

And, they sleep.

  
-

  
In the morning, Kris wakes up disoriented. The first thing he notices is the sense of being warm and comfortable, followed quickly by the realization of being naked and sticky.

Adam is spread out all around him when he blinks to consciousness, his face looking perfectly content, the galaxy of freckles that mark him standing out soft in the morning light.

It takes Kris a while to get out of bed. He feels heavy in a different way than the night before, but also in a way he feels newer.

He showers, first, getting off the bed and followed to the bathroom by Adam's little sleep noises.

When he finishes Adam is still spread on his side in the bed, the sheets just resting fluidly along the small curve of his stomach. Kris smiles at him, can't help it. The lines may have shifted but Adam is still Adam.

Kris sees the lingerie on the floor before he really registers it. The two bras are tangled in one another on the floor at the side of the bed, and the underwear (so much smaller when they're not actually on Adam, resting along his hips and stretching around his thighs -- and Kris stops thinking) crumpled to the side of them.

He picks everything up gingerly, puts it all back in the bag. He bends over his and Adam's suitcases, unsure.

"Put it in mine," Adam says, voice sleep-fuzzy. When Kris turns around Adam is laying on his stomach on the bed, sheets fallen and Kris can trace the downwards curve of his naked back, and then further, the gradual rise. "It'll raise less questions."

Kris nods, doing that, tucking it carefully in Adam's overnight things. "Good morning," he says when he turns back around. When he nears the bed he reaches a hand out, hesitant and Adam doesn't change his expression, just stays there with his head propped up on his palms. Kris runs his fingers softly along the line of Adam's spine, down from his neck, swallowing when Adam turns over, all pale, naked skin, almost too much for the morning.

He rises, Kris' hand still connected with him by just his fingertips. Adam reaches out, too, lifts Kris' chin and looks at him.

"Hi," Adam says.

Kris makes a face, scrunched, "Hey."

Adam leans in quick, presses a feather-light kiss to the crown of Kris' head just on his hairline and goes to turn away. Kris pulls him back, automatically, tipping up on his toes and he kisses Adam, closed mouth but with enough pressure to make it meaningful.

Adam breaks into a grin when they part and Kris ducks his head. "I'm going to shower," he says.

"I'll be here," Kris says, the words falling from his lips almost nonsensically, where he doesn't need to say them, but it fits.

For now Kris isn't going anywhere, and Adam will always be back.


End file.
